


帰宅 (homecoming)

by fieryrondo



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: FS Season: 2017-2018, Ficlet, Gen, POV Second Person, Program Study, Road to Pyeongchang, SEIMEI - Freeform, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryrondo/pseuds/fieryrondo
Summary: It begins with a breath.





	帰宅 (homecoming)

**Author's Note:**

> Did I loop SEIMEI to replay a hundred times before writing this? I'm not going to dignify that with an answer.
> 
> Thank you to my beta for patiently working with me on this while I was on media day emo-fest.

It begins with a breath.

 

You lift a hand, two fingers raised in incantation. Close your eyes and hold.

 

The hiss of your own breath cuts through the silence like a loosed arrow. Your arm snaps to the beat of the first drum. You draw the circle, black gloved fingers reaching—for the sky, for the earth. Gathering strength, you let the gold and white sleeves unravel like summer vines, ringed in spring green.

 

You jump. Fly. Hands sculpt the air to the beat of phantom drums and flute, accompanied by the spectral chorus of strings. Your heart sings with the music as the steps flow from memory to the ice, light and easy and quick. Each turn, pivot and spin calls out to you with the voice of an old friend.

 

You dance. Let the melody wrap you tight like a winter blanket, soft and sweet. The flute guides your steps. Here between the spaces of the stars, there is no uncertainty, only yourself.

 

A bell chimes.

 

You pause. Soak in the echo. Your hands flutter like autumn leaves aloft in breeze. You trace the ether, painting with your fingertips in deft strokes, as delicate as the green curlicues embroidered down the front of your shirt, caressed in gold phoenix feather and bud. 

 

Flowers will bloom again. 

 

You leap. A pirouette, your blades bite deep to the quickening thrum of drum. You sweep across the ice, this time with attack. You spring. You parry. You thrust. Every strike blade sharp. 

 

A loop, the strings swell, the steps frenetic as you whirl, faster and faster with every breath. You spring, fan the air with a final flourish—

 

—when your hand knocks the lamp off your desk.

 

You recoil and curse before shaking your head in self-reproach. Hand stinging, you scuttle to pick up the fallen lamp. Shadow creeps into the room when your mother opens the door and pokes her head in.

 

“You’re still up?” You drink in the fond exasperation in her tone. Scratching your neck, you sheepishly set the lamp back all the while your mother chuckles. 

 

“Try to leave the skating on the ice,” she says, once satisfied you haven’t incapacitated yourself again while in bed. She bids you good night.

 

The door clicks softly shut.

 

You pad quietly to the door and turn the lights off. With a sigh, you slip back into bed, pulling the covers to your chest. You close your eyes.

 

As you fall asleep, your fingers still twitch beneath the covers; they remember the drums beating to the rhythm of your heart.


End file.
